


25 Days of Yancinois Christmas

by nicolasthedickolas



Category: A Heist With Markiplier, Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: 25 Days of Christmas, A heist with Markiplier - Freeform, AHWM, Christmas Fluff, Human AU, M/M, Mark Fischbach Egos, Markiplier - Freeform, Yancinois, christmas 2019
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:47:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21653974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicolasthedickolas/pseuds/nicolasthedickolas
Summary: Christmas prompts for the Christmas season, 25 days of drabbles for Yancy and Illinois. Set all in one universe, highly domestic, possibly tooth-rotting. With possibility of angst or more!
Relationships: Mark Fischbach/Mark Fischbach, Yancy/Illinois
Comments: 47
Kudos: 75





	1. “You’re freezing, come here.”

**Author's Note:**

> This universe is based largely on an au my fiancé and I developed. All drabbles will take place in said universe.

_“What do you mean you don’t have gloves?”_

Yancy hunches his shoulders defensively despite being alone. Well, as alone as one could be while walking around a city block. “In my defense, Ange was gonna have a fit if we didn’t get outta there fast. Youse gonna tell her to wait when she gets like that?”

Hearing her name, Angelica turns back to look at him, tongue lolling out and stubby tail going absolutely wild. He gives her a nudge with his knee and she continues trotting along happily despite the brisk air, occasionally pausing to sniff around trees and building corners, marking as she saw fit.

 _“I think you lost them and you’re using her as your excuse.”_ The words should have sounded scolding, but the fondness in them wins out. _“You could have borrowed mine.”_

Yancy rubs the back of his neck. “Ehhh… then what if somethin’ happened to ‘em? Then we’s both outta gloves.”

The fond huff of laughter on the other end of the phone warms his chest despite the chill in the air. _“You’re impossible, Yance.”_

His heart gives a funny little flip, and lands in a complete belly flop. Like the time Sparkles tried to jump from the basketball hoop onto a guard during a prison riot. _That_ had ended badly. This… felt like it wouldn’t be quite so bad.

_“Yancy? You still there?”_

He blinks, shakes his head. “Uhhh- yeah, yeah. I’m good.” Angelica is tugging at her leash, directing him to the right, and sure enough there was the front of his apartment building. Walk over. He had spaced out for longer than he’d thought.

“We’s headin’ inside now, see youse in a minute.”

Illinois bids him a fond farewell and hangs up, and Yancy trots inside, shuddering as the lukewarm lobby air washes over him. Angelica shakes herself at the temperature change, and heads for the door to the stairwell. “Yeah, youse a smart girl, ain’t ya? Barely been here a minute and youse know where home is.”

He allows the heavyset Rotti to guide them to the third floor as his mind drifts away again, briefly. It had only been a few weeks still that he’d been living here with Illinois. Since diner pancakes and idle chatter between a busboy and an upcoming actor had turned into… well. Whatever this was.

More than he’d ever thought he’d have. More than he deserved.

His therapist had been working with him on that mindset.

His frigid fingers fumble his keys as he struggles to get into the apartment, and he feels the lock turning under his grasp from the other side. He huffs as the door swings open, and Illinois is there. And Yancy can’t fight the surge of emotions in his chest that accompany the sight of the man.

“Look at you.” He tilts his head down a little, his smile soft. “You’re freezing, come here.” He reaches out as Angie bullies her way past them, heading straight for her favorite couch spot, and warm fingers tangle with frosty ones. Yancy hisses, and clings to the painfully toasty touch, and Illinois laughs.

“Yeah, yeah, youse told me so,” he says, as he’s tugged past the threshold. Illinois leans in and kisses him briefly, and his defensive posture loosens and slips away. “Maybe, ah-” His fingers are slowly regaining their mobility, making it easier as Illinois slips his hold and warm hands slide under the parolee’s chilled leather jacket, sloughing it off him, letting it hit the floor. “Maybe we should, uh, hunt them gloves, eh?”

He shivers again, more violently, as Illinois pushes his wandering fingers under the hem of his shirt, dancing over cool denim, and cooler skin.

“Mm. Later. I think you need some more _warming up_ first.”


	2. “That’s the eggnog talking, I’m cutting you off.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 of the 25 Days of Yancinois Christmas!

Neither Illinois or Yancy were fantastic in the kitchen. Yancy could scramble an egg, sure, most of the time. And Illinois knew how to fry up sausages or hamburger patties in a pan on the stove. Maybe sometimes the smoke alarm went off, but really that was the fault of the alarm for being so sensitive.

So there weren’t really any marathon baking sessions or elaborate meals planned for the holidays. Just some store-bought cookie dough and a jug of eggnog combined with eggnog-flavored ice cream and some brandy Illinois found on a bottom shelf, stashed away god only knew how long ago. Perfect for a night in together, doing nothing in particular.

“Whoever thought’a addin’ ice cream to eggnog was a genius.” Yancy drops back onto the couch between Illinois and Angelica with a small bounce, his glass refilled for the second (third?) time. Illinois is feeling suitably floaty after several glasses himself, warm and comfortable. The apartment smelled like cookies and vaguely of shoes but that was just because Yancy’s slip-resistant shoes were probably hiding somewhere nearby.

“I thought of it,” he says, and takes another sip as Yancy grumbles at him, gesturing with a flat sweep of his hand. The more worked up he got, the more his hands got involved while he talked. Illinois found it adorable.

“Yeah? Youse didn’t _invent_ ice cream and eggnog. No way.” A small splash of his drink slopped over the side of the glass, and Angelica surged forward to lick it up before Yancy could stop her, encouraging a chorus of “Ey, ey! Ey! Ange, you can’t drink that— _Ange!_ Youse a _dog,_ brandy ain’t no good for you!”

The Rottweiler settles back down against her favorite couch cushion as she licks her chops, clearly unrepentant of her crimes. Yancy points a finger directly at her, a hair’s breadth from her nose, and she leans forward to lick at it happily. The screech of “Ey! I’m lecturin’ here!” makes Illinois nearly double over with laughter.

“Oh, that’s funny? Me try’na be a good dad to my dog is funny, Noisy?” He’s flushed, tan skin a dull red from liquor and exertion, and Illinois wants to lean forward and mouth at the edge of that perfect jaw until he goes all loose and gorgeous and—

Yancy is staring at him. Why is he— oh. _Oh._

“I, ah. I was… speaking aloud, wasn’t I?” Bashfulness was largely a foreign feeling for him, but the way Yancy just kept staring at him, as though he’d sprouted a second head, was starting to make him a little more familiar with the sensation. 

“I think, uh. That’s the eggnog talkin’, I’m cuttin’ ya off.” Yancy tries to make a grab at the half-empty glass in Illinois’ hand, but misses as the other rears back out of his reach. 

“No—” Yancy frowns slightly but he doesn’t attempt the grab again, and Illinois relaxes slightly once more against the couch. “What… It wasn’t _that_ crazy, was it?” 

Yancy’s quiet at first, for long enough that Illinois starts to wonder if he’d actually said _that_ part out loud. Maybe he really did need to be cut off… 

Then, almost too quiet to understand— 

“Ain’t nothin’ perfect about me.” 

Illinois feels his heart lurch in his chest, a quiet cave-in. “Yancy—” Those shoulders tighten, curling inward and downward, attempting to protect himself against something that was only coming from within. 

“Youse ain’t gotta pretend. Probably ain’t good to try an’ fool yourself.” 

He doesn’t flinch away when Illinois reaches out to him, but he doesn’t lean into it either. It makes it easy, at least, to skip the forgotten glass from his hand, to make sure both of their drinks end up safely on the nearby coffee table. Careful hands coax Yancy downward, until he’s draped across the couch and into Illinois’ space. Cautious fingers card through that thick, dark hair. Evening showers meant the day’s gel was washed away and it was pleasantly fluffy for once. 

It takes patience, but slowly, the affection urges Yancy to relax further, and his body sinks more fully into the cradle of Illinois’ own. 

Words escape them both. Arguments and defenses. They both already know them before they’re even said. So all Illinois knows to do is to hold him, to keep dragging his fingernails lightly over Yancy’s scalp, drawing thick furrows through his hair over and over and over. 

Until all at once, the body tucked against him sags fully, swept away by unconsciousness. The lull of liquor and escape won out. Illinois still feels alarmingly off-step as he stares down at the heartbreakingly handsome former prisoner that had literally stolen his heart. 

By the time he feels steady enough to move them, he’s already half asleep himself. For tonight, the couch seems like a safe enough place to slip into dreams. Tomorrow will be another day. 


	3. “I didn’t wrap it, so you have to close your eyes.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 of the 25 Days of Yancinois Christmas!

“I didn’t wrap it, so youse gotta close your eyes.”

Illinois blinks up at Yancy, visibly confused. His phone dangles loosely in his grasp, upper body draped across the kitchen counter as he waits for his coffee to finish brewing. The gurgle is slowly sputtering to a halt as he says, quite blankly, “But… Yancy, it’s not Christmas yet.”

The shorter man huffs, torn between irritation and adoration. Illinois Jones is a man of charm and confidence 23 hours out of every day. Even when he’s asleep he just exudes an energy of wisdom and capability. But first thing in the morning? He’s as stupid and tired as everyone else, and Yancy absolutely loves it most of the time.

This morning was just putting a tiny damper on the usual charm of his wake-up witlessness, and Yancy impatiently wiggles his shoulders to encourage Illinois to obey since he can’t use the hands currently cradled behind his back. “Jus’— just trust me, yeah? Close ‘em and keep ‘em closed till I tell ya not to.”

Illinois blinks at him quizzically for another moment, his gaze drifting longingly toward the coffee pot, and then his eyes obligingly slip closed. Sleep still hovers close enough that the temptation to let his lids drop cannot be ignored. He yawns, as his phone is deftly plucked from his unsuspecting hand, and something else is planted in his waiting palm.

“Okay, youse can open your eyes now.”

It takes a moment for Illinois to comply, lashes fluttering as he forces them to reopen and actually stay that way. His fingers curl around the object that had been placed in his hand. He blinks dopily, and then again with more clarity as recognition floods his brain, shock-starting his system as though he’d just received a flood of adrenaline.

A gorgeous leather wallet sits in the middle of his palm, a rich shade of brown that looked almost glossy in the kitchen lights. A zipper secured most of the inner pockets and card slots, while a simple snap button held a smaller array of slots and a clear pocket for his ID. Initials were tastefully etched in a sweeping font just under the button.

_I.J._

Illinois stares down at it and then looks up at Yancy with far more awareness than had been there before. Sheepishly, Yancy turns away to fuss over the other’s coffee, finding it difficult to maintain eye contact when he knows exactly the thought process that the other is presently going through.

“I… I didn’t realize that you had—”

“Ehhh, I know, ain’t your fault, Nois. Your old one, it’s in pieces. Youse ain’t gonna wanna hold out till Christmas jus’ _hopin’_ I actually got one for ya.”

Illinois cups his other hand around the wallet as well, tracing over the carefully engraved initials, the cool metal of the zipper. “But this… this can’t have been cheap, Yancy. I made you ruin a perfectly wonderful Christmas surprise because I couldn’t wait just a few more weeks for a new wallet.”

Yancy shrugs his shoulders as he slides the freshly-prepared mug of coffee onto the counter in front of Illinois. “Yeah, well. Youse know how it is. Couldn’t jus’ let ya order yourself one. But if I told youse not ta buy it, you’da been suspicious anyways.” He smiles lopsidedly, and Illinois feels the shudder and pitch of his heart behind his ribs. “This way youse get the wallet ya need, without buyin’ one ya don’t actually need, ya know?”

Illinois continues to stare at him for long enough that Yancy rubs a hand over his face a little self-consciously.

“Look, Noisy, you ain’t gotta feel bad, all right? I gave it to ya cause I wanted to, I’d feel awful if youse wasted that money when I had a perfectly good wallet jus’ sittin’—”

Yancy gets cut off as he’s grabbed by the front of his shirt and hauled down for a kiss, letting out a muffled grunt against Illinois’ mouth before he melts into it. He’s feeling a little lightheaded when Illinois finally pulls back a little to breathe.

“You, uh—” Yancy swallows, and Illinois laughs quietly. “Youse welcome, I guess.”


	4. “Don’t be such a Scrooge.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4 of the 25 Days of Yancinois Christmas!

The first time it happens, Illinois doesn’t think much of it. Angelica had dragged the tinsel that they had strung up in the living room down from its perch, and was taking great pleasure in tearing up the sparkly little red strips and spreading them all over the apartment. Illinois had chased her around to get it back from her, ultimately resulting in the tinsel being torn into two very battered looking halves of one former decoration.

Yancy, upon arriving home and seeing the carnage, had fluffed his dog’s ears with a grin and just cooed, “Awww, doll, she’s jus’ havin’ her fun. Don’ be such a Scrooge.”

It’s lighthearted, and the tinsel is thrown out, the vacuum briefly run, and when they replace the tinsel later, they hang it up a little higher to discourage Angelica from going after it again.

At the store, as they swing by the Christmas section to pick up new tinsel, Illinois doesn’t pay much attention when Yancy wanders off. He’s torn between two packs of tinsel, one an exact replacement of the one they’d lost, and another one that hadn’t been here before, a pretty mix of red and green and silver.

He hears footsteps behind him, and he turns to check if it’s Yancy, to ask for his input. And he watches, mouth agape, question dangling unasked at the tip of his tongue, as his boyfriend confidently dumps an _armload_ of ornaments into the cart without an ounce of hesitation.

“Wh—” He pauses, regroups. Yancy has the darndest way of completely throwing him off of his usually flawless rhythm. He could tackle a full production day on two hours of sleep and a bagel without missing a beat. But throw Yancy into the mix and all bets were off. “What are those for?”

Yancy gives him a _look,_ like it’s the most ridiculous question he’s ever heard. “For the tree, Noisy, _duh.”_

“Well—! Of course for the tree, Yancy, but do we really need… _eight_ new ornaments?” Their tree was already rather small, and the ornaments they did have filled it rather well. A few more would hardly inundate the branches, but—

“Yer overthinkin’ things, babe,” says Yancy cheerfully, “C’mon, don’t be a Scrooge.” He plucks the multicolored garland out of Illinois’ hand and tosses it into their basket, and then wanders further down the aisle to inspect some additional baubles.

Illinois puts the rejected garland back onto the shelf and has to follow Yancy closely for the rest of the trip to prevent more last minute decoration shopping. They still end up picking up several pairs of socks - “They’s a dollar, Nois!” - along with more cookie dough. What was intended to be a ten dollar, ten minute trip turns into almost forty-five minutes of idle meandering along aisles and making impulse purchases in the name of Christmas. 

Illinois doesn’t want to think about their bank account as the total blinks ominously on the tiny card swipe screen.

But Yancy is humming along to the overhead music as they head out to the car. His feet shuffle a little, along with the beat, as though the need to dance along was barely being contained. 

Illinois only dimly recognizes the song, but watching Yancy bop along to it, he can feel the mild irritation that had been brewing fade away. Yancy’s shoulders shimmy a little bit, even as they move past a point where they can hear the song anymore.

 _“Cause we need a li’l music-”_ Yancy picks up the words for the end of the song, quietly, as they load bags into the car. _“Need a li’l laughter-”_

 _“Need a little singing-”_ Illinois pipes up, and smiles at the way Yancy’s head whips around toward him, shock giving way quickly to delight. _“Ringing through the rafters.”_

_“An’ we need a little snappy ‘happy ever afta’!”_

They sing the last line together, as Illinois captures his boyfriend’s hand and pulls him into a wild little spin right there in the parking lot, in front of god and every other Christmas shopper at Target that afternoon. _“Need a little Christmas nooooooow!”_

Yancy is grinning big, cheeks red from the cold and maybe a little bit from embarrassment at the obnoxiously loud car horn from somewhere nearby. “Lookit you, youse got some Christmas spirit in ya today after all!”

Illinois leans in and kisses his red-tipped nose, causing the shorter man to splutter indignantly. “I’ve got a great role model.”


	5. “That’s mistletoe we’re standing under.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5 of the 25 Days of Yancinois Christmas!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charlie Peterson belongs to me.

“I ain’t ever been to a Christmas party like this before.”

Illinois takes a sip from the wine glass he’d picked up from the open bar and smiles at Yancy’s wide-eyed delight. “Peterson doesn’t socialize much, but when he bothers it’s always an event worth attending.” The host himself had already swung by to shake their hands, thank them for coming, and catch an eyeful of Yancy before being pulled away again.

Illinois knows he’ll be hit with an onslaught of questions later on, whether in person or over text depended on how the party went. When he’d RSVP’d with a plus one, he had known that Charlie would be curious.

And if there was one thing the rather eccentric artist was known for, it was doing everything in his power to satisfy a curiosity.

“An ‘event’! I ain’t fancy enough for an ‘event’, Noisy. Youse is out here bringin’ me to some fancy shindig with some fancy friend’a yours.” Yancy pokes a little at one of the finger foods on the tiny plate he’d fixed before he gives in and simply pops the whole thing into his mouth. Whatever it is, he immediately grabs the other two on his plate and gulps them down.

“A ‘shindig’, huh?” Illinois is trying not to laugh, biting his lip as Yancy gestures broadly with a half-eaten cocktail shrimp now. 

“Yeah. And then there’s people like me. Like Gloria, y’know, from work? She says she’s havin’ some people over closer ta Christmas, says I should come an’ bring along the handsome guy she saw pickin’ me up from work the other day.” He grins cheekily at Illinois. “But it ain’t no ‘event’. Prob’ly a potluck or somethin’.”

Illinois leans over and presses a kiss to Yancy’s temple, making him huff and make a dismissive noise. “I’m sure Gloria throws a lovely potluck.”

“Ehhhhh. Youse just sayin’ that. Gloria’d have a fit if she knew we was pittin’ her potluck against—” He gestures again, widely.

“An ‘event’?” asks Illinois, barely feigning seriousness.

_“Yeah!”_

Illinois rolls his eyes fondly, and sets his now-empty wine glass to the side. “We’ll keep it a secret from Gloria. Come here.”

Yancy ditches his empty plate and follows Illinois willingly, weaving their way through patches of people and conversations. They step out onto a quiet deck through a cracked sliding door, and the rush of people’s chatter fades behind them. The cool air bites harder after the warmth of the room they’d been in, but neither of them seem to mind it too much.

Yancy moves straight to the railing to peer out at the view. “Wow,” he breathes, looking back at Illinois with the stars overhead sparkling in his eyes. “This’s some view, huh? Makes all’a the paperwork with Trev worth the trip outta town.”

Illinois slides his arm around Yancy’s waist as he joins him, looking out at the twinkle of lit buildings and the rush of cars. “You know, Charlie told me when I make it big he’ll sell me this place.”

Yancy makes a choked sound, head whipping around to look up at him. _”Nois,_ youse kiddin’!”

He laughs. “No. Apparently he’s looking to relocate more permanently. Somebody in the big city has caught his eye.”

“E-ey, but— Ange wouldn’t know what to do in a place like this!” _I don’t know what to do in a place like this!_

Illinois’ hand slides up his side soothingly and back down again, squeezing his hip reassuringly. “I told him we wouldn’t be ready for a while yet. I need a big break first.”

Yancy settles slightly, staring out at the city again. “S’gonna happen for ya. Eventually. You deserves it, y’know?”

Illinois merely hums softly, and they fall into a weighty sort of quiet, but one neither expects the other to really disrupt. Their bodies press a little closer together, combatting the cold with their combined body heat, and Yancy’s head settles against Illinois’ shoulder.

Time slows, spins out, in the way it does when it stops mattering for a little while. Is it ten minutes or is it forty? Neither of them really care to say. It simply is. And they’re both content with it.

Yancy tilts his head back further to look up at his boyfriend, and he pauses. His eyes trail further upward, to a sprig of greenery dangling over their heads. “Is that—”

Illinois looks up as well, curiously. “...Should’ve known he’d hide something like this _somewhere.”_

“That’s… that’s mistletoe we’re standin’ under.” Yancy sounds less annoyed and more… befuddled. “I thought that kinda stuff only happened in the movies.”

“Not when Charlie Peterson is involved.” Illinois smiles a little bit. “You don’t sound too terribly excited.”

Yancy scuffs a foot sheepishly over the deck underfoot. “Well… y’know…” He gestures blindly back over his shoulder, at the party they’d left behind. “I jus’ don’t wanna ruin your _chance_ at a big break, y’know? They see youse all cuddled up an’ actually kissin’ on me, they’re gonna think less o—”

Hands fist in the front of his shirt, and Yancy is hauled down before he can finish speaking and kissed firmly, until his eyes felt like they’d cross from the force of it.

“You let me worry about what other people think of me,” says Illinois firmly, still clutching Yancy’s sweater tight. “All that really matters to me is you.”

Yancy puffs out a weak breath, his face flushed. “What if I don’t trust ya not to make a stupid choice cause youse too full’a sentimental-type feelings?”

Illinois chuckles softly, making Yancy grumble. “Then I guess you’re stuck living with my sentimental-type choice.”

“Youse don’ make no sense, you know that? No sense at all.”

“Sentiment doesn’t have to.”

“Ehhhh.”


	6. “It’s snowing.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 6 of the 25 Days of Yancinois Christmas!

When he’d left for work that evening, Yancy had noticed the sharper chill in the air but he hadn’t really thought anything about it. He hadn’t checked the weather report. He had hopped on the bus and rode it down to the corner near the diner, and then waltzed the rest of the way to work with his hands buried in his leather jacket and more concern for rude customers and diner drama than for what the sky might bring him.

That had been several hours ago.

It gets dark outside quickly in the winter, and Yancy usually doesn’t make a habit of staring through the windows as he bustles back and forth between the kitchen and the tables that needed emptying.

Business slows, and then ceases altogether. Several more hours crawl by. He ends up loitering in the back with the other dishwasher and the cooks on the line, shooting the shit and thinking nothing of it until he hears the shrill call of one of the waitresses from up front.

When several peeking heads can’t quite fit in the window, Yancy ducks around to just pop through the kitchen door, and all of them can see the squat wall of snow that has begun to build up in front of the diner door. It’s not a foot deep by any means, but it’s enough to have several of them whistling.

“Buses’re gonna be delayed,” says Bennett through the kitchen window, and Yancy groans at the thought. “Hope you like sleeping with the vegetables, Iplier.”

A curly-haired waitress shoots him a sympathetic glance from where she’s leaning against the front counter. “You know you could come stay with me if you need a couch, Yance.”

“Nah, nah, I ain’t gonna make you do that, Gloria.”

Normally there is very strict policy on cell phone usage on the clock, but given the empty dining room and the storm outside, Yancy doesn’t feel too bad about breaking that particular rule. He fishes his phone out of his back pocket, leaning against the kitchen door’s frame as he lifts it to his ear.

After several rings, it picks up.

_”Is everything all right?”_

“All I gotta do is call for youse to ask me that?” He keeps his voice down as much as he can, given the public setting. His coworkers are gossip vultures. All of them.

_”You still have almost three hours left of your shift.”_ Illinois doesn’t sound upset. But the concern hasn’t quite left his voice yet either. He almost sounds a little sleepy. Yancy thinks about the late hour and his expression twists into a frown.

“Did I wake you up, Nois? I didn’ even think about it, youse could’a said somethin’—” He starts trying to backpedal, but Illinois cuts him off.

_”If you’re calling from work, it’s for a good reason. What did you need?”_

Yancy rubs the back of his neck, glancing out at the window again, and the dark night swirling with snowflakes still. It seemed like much of the snowfall had finally ceased, at least. He wondered what the actual state of the roads was.

“So, uh— I dunno if you’ve noticed, seein’ as you was sleepin’ an’ all, but…. Well…” He hears Illinois huff softly in amusement, and he blurts, “It’s snowin’.”

There’s a pause. Several seconds, and then several more. Then—

_”Did you… call me just to tell me that it’s snowing?”_

Yancy realizes all at once what it sounds like and nearly chokes on his attempt to rectify his mistake. “No! Nah, not— I mean, yeah, but, I didn’ wake youse up just cause’a that. It’s not jus’ snowin’, doll. It’s, uh. _Snowing.”_

There’s a beat, and then he hears the mattress creak as Illinois rolls out of the bed and heads into the living room to peer out the window.

_”Oh.”_ There’s a dull grinding sound, and Yancy realizes that he’s opening the window. He hears the soft rumble of a groan over the line, presumably due to the chill in the air. _”Well, Merry Christmas to us.”_

“Yeah, it’s kinda pilin’ up in front’a the door here. Bennett was sayin’ the buses would, uh, y’know. Maybe be delayed or somethin’.”

He feels bad, even as he says it, even as Illinois grunts and slides the window closed again. Sue, his therapist, tells him that he should work on being able to ask for things. That his value as a person doesn’t decrease because he makes requests of others.

Inconveniencing Illinois still makes him feel about two inches tall.

_”I’ve told you before that I’m happy to drive you, sweetheart.”_ Yancy hears him yawn, and rustling. _”Even without a snow storm.”_

“Yeah, youse said, but—”

_”No buts, Yancy. If you need me, I’m happy to be there.”_

“It ain’t a need, is all.” Yancy hates how flustered his own voice sounds in his ears. How defensive. “Bus’ll come by eventually, I ain’t even off yet.”

_”Mm. And if it’s worse by the time you get off?”_ Yancy hears the jingle of his keys, Angelica’s barking. Illinois hushes her softly, and then Yancy hears the muffled sound of their apartment door closing. _”I’m glad you called me. I’d worry.”_

Yancy feels the tightness in his chest spread up into his throat. “You ain’t gotta worry about me, Noisy, really.”

_”I do anyway, Yance. That’s just how this works.”_ There’s a brief pause. _”I’m heading downstairs now, I should probably let you get back to work. I’ll be there as soon as I can, all right?”_

Yancy scrubs a hand up over his cheek and is relieved to find it still dry. “Yeah. You drive safe, y’hear?”

Illinois chuckles softly. _”Of course.”_


	7. “Open it.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 of the 25 Days of Yancinois Christmas!

“I swear, Noisy, if this’s about that whole wallet thing and youse is givin’ me a present early cause you feel bad about me spoilin’ a surprise—“

Illinois pushes the box into his hands insistently, despite his complaining. “You’re never going to guess what it is, sweetheart. So you’d might as well go ahead. Open it.”

Yancy grumbles as he looks down at the unassuming white box in his hands. It could be anything. Decently heavy, completely unmarked. But not a staggering weight either. It could be as small as a puppy or as big as a tablet. He had no idea why Illinois would buy him either of those things.

When he tries to slide his fingers under the edge of the box’s lid, he finds it unsecured except for a single piece of tape along the front edge. The back is only discernible from the front because the lid is actually connected there rather than the box being in two completely separate pieces.

Yancy wonders briefly where Illinois had found a box like that as he loosens the tape and pushes open the lid. He blinks, and his grumpily furrowed brow clears as he looks up at Illinois.

The smell had been trapped within the combination of box and plastic wrap, but with the lid now open there was the distinctly sweet smell of pastry wafting up from within. A row of perfect little shells loaded to bursting with creamy filling sits neatly in their wrapping, looking fresh as though they’d been boxed up on location that very same day.

“What… where’d youse go an’ get these from?” He tries to sound unaffected, but he can hardly tear his eyes away from the tidy little collection of treats. There’s eight in total, two of each kind. One set is loaded with pistachios, one with chocolate chips, one is decorated with a bright red cherry and a perfect curl of candied orange peel, and the last is plain, simply dusted with powdered sugar along the shell.

“There’s a delivery service that specializes in shipping highly particular foods from exclusive NYC locations to anywhere in the country, fast enough to keep them fairly fresh. You were watching that travel special with me a few days ago—“ Illinois looks almost sheepish now, shoulders shifting in a half-shrug as though to dismiss the vulnerability he was about to express.

“Aw, Nois, that’s gotta be expensive, though, ain’t it? You didn’t haf’ta do all that for me, I ain’t even ever had ‘em before.” 

Yancy sets the box down on the counter, and Illinois welcomes him in for a hug. His ribs are compressed, his feet almost leaving the floor as Yancy rocks him side to side several times. Illinois wheezes softly and pats his shoulder.

“That’s—“ Yancy huffs at the exaggerated strain of Illinois’ voice and lessens the ferocity of his hug. “—sort of the point, Yance. You mentioned that you’ve wanted to try them ‘for forever’, in your own words, but you’ve never found a place nearby that made them fresh like this.”

“That don’t mean I expect youse to go an’ fly me in a box of ‘em.” 

Illinois’ hand is on his back, holding him near, rubbing a little bit. His fingers press in just a little bit more firmly. “I just…” His tone shifts just slightly into something almost wistful. “I know you… still have a little while before your parole is up.”

Yancy’s body goes still, tensing, the way he always does the moment something like that is brought up, before he relaxes again. “It ain’t like the cannolis are gonna go anywhere for a few more years, Noisy.”

“I know that.” His hand slides higher up Yancy’s back, into the soft, ungelled hair at the nape of his neck. “It’s not about you missing your chance. It’s about just _wanting_ to give you the experience sooner.”

The arms around his waist squeeze tighter again, and Illinois holds him close. He can feel the fingers twisting up in the back of his shirt, and he exhales softly. His other arm comes around Yancy and gathers him up, cradling him closer still. “I want to give you everything, Yancy. Even ridiculous things. Like cannolis shipped from New York because you’ve wanted to try them ever since you first saw them on tv as a kid.”

When Yancy emerges from his shoulder, his eyes are damp, but the tears seem determined not to properly fall. He gives a sniff, as if to brace himself, and then lets Illinois go. “Well, youse already went and, uh, bought ‘em, I guess. So we’s gotta eat ‘em whether we like it or not.”

Illinois reaches up, wanting to further comfort, but Yancy bats his hand away gently. “Yancy—“

“I wanna crack into these bad boys, Nois. Can we?” It’s a shaky, somewhat watery smile that he offers up, but it’s something. Illinois wants to coddle him more, smother him in comfort. He never knows how to handle these dark patches smoothly. He hopes he’s doing the right thing.

He takes a deep breath, and Illinois smiles. “Yeah, let’s dig in.”


	8. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 8 of the 25 Days of Yancinois Christmas!

Nights when Yancy didn’t work were some of their favorites. They could curl up on the couch and eat takeout and watch shitty television, which tended to devolve into making out, which tended to result in them either sleeping on said couch or stumbling off to bed trying not to let Angelica slip into the bedroom with them.

Tonight was one of those nights.

It was Chinese food tonight, Illinois’ choice. Containers of rice, one white and one shrimp fried, sat open and halfway eaten, shared between their two plates. A bag of crab rangoons had been decimated practically upon arrival, and there were already several smears of Yancy’s sweet-and-sour sauce on the coffee table’s surface.

Illinois steals a tiny shrimp from Yancy’s plate, chuckling as he squawks and retaliates by stabbing at his sesame beef.

It’s silly and sweet and they’re going back and forth between episodes of Bizarre Foods and Agent Carter. (“They’s got this one musical number in this episode, Nois, just wait till youse see it!”)

Sometimes it’s competitive cooking and reality tv, sometimes it’s movies on Netflix, but it’s always shouted commentary and friendly bickering about plot points and the validity of certain victors over others.

It’s domestic. And the fall of snow outside the window, the dog at their feet, it creates a moment that feels bittersweet in its fleetingness and simplicity.

Illinois wishes there were a way to capture it forever.

“Nois! _Nois!!_ He don’ mean that’s real blood in there, does he?” Yancy gestures at the tv, where Zimmerman is sampling a variety of pork dishes at a San Francisco restaurant, including a mousse that—

“.... it does say it’s a blood mousse, sweetheart.”

Yancy is waving his fork through the air, and Illinois is just grateful that it had been empty before he’d started swinging. “But youse know people say that an’ it’s not really real, s’just like a clever name, y’know? People don’ really just _eat_ blood, do they?”

Illinois has to work very hard to keep his expression placid. “I’ve eaten blood.”

Yancy looks absolutely horrified. _”Noisy, you ain’t never!”_

Illinois is distracted from continuing his playful deception by the sudden, sloppy sound of Angelica at his elbow, nose-deep in—

“Wha— Angelica!” Illinois tries to grab for his bowl, but the damage is mostly done. Bubbles of dog slobber are swimming among the remnants of his beef dinner as he lifts it to inspect. Dark sauce is smeared around Angelica’s tan colored maw, and her tongue lolls out and laps over it happily. Yancy is snickering, a hand up over his mouth, shoulders shaking from the force of it. 

Illinois is torn between just giving her the rest of the bowl or throwing it away on principle. It was their own fault for feeding her human food, but she had been Yancy’s dog when they met and he always treated her to some of what was his. Illinois has merely followed suit.

As he sits there, still torn, from behind him, suddenly he hears, “‘Awww, Illinois! Youse didn’t have to get me anythin’!’” Yancy has adopted the syrupy baby voice that he usually uses when speaking for Angelica, and even the sound of it makes her wag her stumpy little tail even harder, panting up at Illinois excitedly. “‘How’d you know that’s my most favorite thing on the menu, Illi-noiiiis?’”

He huffs, but his shoulders sink a little as the tension bleeds out of them. “All right—“

Yancy persists, fluttering his lashes dramatically as Angelica dances at his knee, her paws shifting back and forth and making her front half wiggle now too. “‘Youse suuuuure you ain’t gonna eat it? I can really have all’a that for myself?’”

Illinois sighs. “You know, I’m beginning to feel outnumbered here.” But he relents, and sets the bowl on the floor. Angelica’s head is in it before he can fully take his hand away. Yancy is laughing so hard his feet kick a little bit.

“I don’ know what youse could be talkin’ about. Ain’t my fault, youse just a big softie,” he says with a grin.

“I don’t know…” Illinois leans back against the couch and hums. “Maybe I need my own backup. Maybe I’ll get a cat.”

Yancy makes a sudden shushing sound and flaps his hands. “Noisy!! You can’t jus’ go an’ say somethin’ like that in front’a Ange! She’s _sensitive!”_

Illinois can feel the couch shuddering slightly from the force of her licks as she cleans out the bowl. “I think she can take it.”


	9. “I’m just happy you’re here.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 9 of the 25 Days of Yancinois Christmas!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for vague car crash mentions and medical situations

When the call first comes in, Yancy is still asleep. Late shifts means late mornings, and Illinois often wakes up before him. Sometimes he’d find breakfast wrapped up in the microwave for him. Others he’d roll out of bed before Illinois finished eating. It all depended on how he felt. His internal body clock rarely relied on the alarms he set. It just woke him up whenever it was ready.

So he sleeps straight through his vibrating phone. Angelica stirs a little bit at the sound, but when it stops she drops her head back into the blankets and snoozes on.

Another hour passes before his phone buzzes again, and this time he’s closer to waking, enough that the noise makes Yancy groan and shift, rolling over onto his belly, his arm splayed out sleepily into Illinois’ space on the bed. Long since cold. He shivers and retracts his arm into the blankets as his phone goes quiet.

Nearly a minute later, it vibrates again, a short tone this time. He grumbles and wiggles himself closer to the edge of the bed without leaving his bundle of blankets. He paws around, as Angelica yawns noisily, and finds the charger cord. He pulls the phone onto the mattress by its cord and fumbles to get it where he can see the screen.

Two missed calls. One from Illinois, one from a number he didn’t recognize. Two voicemails as well.

Yancy selects Illinois’ message first, putting it on speaker. He can hear the wind as soon as the recording starts, meaning he’s outside. _”Hey, sweetheart.”_ His voice sounds a little strained. _”It’s, uh. Pretty icy out here this morning, heh. I’m… I’m all right. I know you’re probably asleep, and I don’t know when you’ll see this. I’m okay. Just… call me when you wake up, okay? Got into a tiny accident and I’ve got some bumps they want to look at. That’s all. I’m okay. Okay? I’ll talk to you in a little bit, Yance.”_

There’s a crackling sound on the other end of the line, movement, and just before it cuts off Yancy thinks he hears the distant whoop of a siren. His blood, already running cold, turns to ice.

His fingers are shaking as he tries to hit callback. It rings, and rings, and he finds himself mumbling, begging for Illinois to pick up. Eventually it clicks to voicemail, and Yancy hangs up. He selects the second voicemail, not quite sure what he’s hoping for, and listens, breath shuddering with every exhale.

_”Hello, this message is from Todd with John Hopkins’ Medical Center, calling you regarding a Mr. Illinois Jones who has you listed as his emergency contact. If you could give us a call back at—“_

Yancy hits callback and waits, fingers wringing the sheets into a wrinkled nest of overworked cotton under his fingers. After several rings, the automated system picks up, and he realizes that perhaps he should have listened to the rest of the voicemail.

He manages to fumble his way through several menus to get to a real person, and at their prompting he doesn’t hesitate to launch in. “Uh, y-yeah, I got a call, youse guys said I was an emergency contact, so I dunno if it’s the, uh, the ER or what, but m’tryin’ to find out about a Illinois? Jones?” His voice cracks. “Some kinda— an accident?”

There’s a pause, typing. He’s made to rattle off his phone number and his full name. The nurse hums softly to let him know she’s still on the line as she searches the system. Yancy’s head feels a little like it’s full of fluff, and his chest is being squeezed by a metal vise.

“Yes, we have Mr. Jones here, he’s currently being monitored for a concussion, but he isn’t being admitted. We were calling to see if you could serve as his transportation after he’s finished here.”

Yancy agrees and rushes out of bed, throwing on a jacket and shoes, not even stopping to change out of his green fleece sleep pants or ratty white T-shirt. Nothing matters but getting to Illinois.

He has to catch a ride to the hospital, but thankfully the driver comes quickly and, after hearing the situation, offers to stay close by to take them back home after. “I could do with a lunch break anyway, just shoot me a message when you need to be picked up again.”

Yancy thanks them profusely and rushes inside. Thankfully the ER is on the first floor, and after stumbling his way into the right waiting room and finding a sympathetic nurse, he was finally being taken back to see Illinois. A row of small, curtained area are lined up on either side of a narrow hallway. It looks like it could fit a gurney but nothing too much wider.

The nurse takes him to the closed curtain on the far end of the left side. She knocks on the nearby wall and waits for the gravelly call of, “Come in.” Then she nudges open the curtain and peeks in.

“You have a visitor, dear.” She holds the curtain open a bit wider and nods to Yancy, who hesitantly steps past her and into the little alcove. There isn’t much, just a bed and several medical machines. A small metal table. And Illinois, looking pale and bruised and bandaged, but alive and well. He smiles weakly the moment he sees Yancy.

“Hey, sweetheart…”

Yancy hears the curtain rattle on its bar as it’s pulled shut behind him. Then he’s suddenly by the bed, reaching out. Their hands clasp, and all the tears that had been gathering in his chest and throat suddenly start to spill over. He’s shaking, clutching Illinois’ hand like his own life depends on it. “I-I-I’m so sorry, Nois, I didn’—“

Illinois hushes him softly. He shifts, making more room on the narrow mattress. Yancy tries to resist, to protest, but Illinois keeps tugging until he has no choice but to relent. He eases himself onto the bed and curls in next to Illinois, trying to be conscious of wires and wounds, careful of his knees and elbows.

“You were sleeping, Yancy, it’s okay. Not your fault. You’re here now.” He presses his face against Yancy’s hair and his voice wobbles. “I’m just happy you’re here.”

Yancy’s fingers curl into the thin hospital gown that Illinois is wearing. “M’happy you’re here too, Noisy.” His vision is blurry with tears, but Illinois is warm against him despite the chill in the air at the hospital. Yancy can feel his chest rising and falling under his ear.

He’s still here.

Anything else they can deal with.


	10. “Tis the season for sharing feelings, I guess.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 10 of the 25 Days of Yancinois Christmas!

Illinois is still limping a little the next day, but he feels far better on his feet than he did laying around. Yancy is like a mother hen, hovering around him like he might take another spill at any moment. Illinois tries not to let it bother him. He knows it’s all out of concern, out of care.

He focuses more on the fact that their car hasn’t been totaled, that the impact actually only did cosmetic damage. There’s some splits and scrapes in the bumper, a small dent. But no real damage to anything internal. It’s a miracle on top of his own largely cosmetic damage.

“Doll, you really ain’t gotta go tonight if youse still feelin’ crappy.”

Illinois takes an extra moment to make the next turn. Even though the roads down towards the diner don’t seem overly icy, his paranoia is understandably higher than usual after yesterday’s incident. “You’ve been talking about the holiday party at your work for most of December, sweetheart. I’m not going to miss it or make you go alone when I’m perfectly all right.”

Yancy squeezes his fingers a little tighter around the edges of the pan he’s holding in his lap. “I jus’ know you’re gonna still be hurtin’, is all, an’—“

“And it’s nothing I can’t handle, Yancy. I promise. If I start feeling too bad, then we can leave early.” Yancy looks doubtful, but Illinois repeats the promise several times so that by the time they’re arriving at the diner, he almost looks like he believes it.

Yancy leaves the food in the seat and hurries around the car to help him out, then returns to grab the pan once Illinois is safely on the sidewalk. He tucks his free arm around Illinois carefully, and they head into the diner together. The blast of air that hits them as they enter is lukewarm at best but compared to the freezing night it’s a godsend.

The 24-hour establishment had temporarily closed its doors in honor of its employees. The only day aside from December 25th where they were actually shut down.

Many of the night staff, Illinois recognizes. The rest are unfamiliar, day shifters that rarely cross his path. The ones closest to Yancy he actually knows by name. The line cook, Bennett, is currently leaning over the line of tables that have been dragged together, giving the growing array of food a hungry overview. And the curly-haired waitress, Gloria, is already crossing the room to relieve Yancy of his pan and give them both a firm, one-armed hug.

“We’re _so_ glad you two are here. Yancy never calls out of work, so we knew something must have happened when he didn’t come in last night. Do you need to sit down?”

Illinois waves a hand dismissively but Yancy helps to steer him toward a chair and the two of them urge him down despite his protests. He huffs. “Are you planning to bring me food too?”

Yancy braces a hand on the table and leans in close to him. “Youse say that like ya wouldn’ do the same for me, dollface.”

Illinois feels his face heat up a little bit and he grumbles. Gloria tugs Yancy away to add their offering to the table. Nobody seems to have any food yet, in the interest of letting as many people as possible arrive before the mob descends.

“You make him happy, y’know.”

Illinois jumps, startled out of his reverie as Bennett hefts himself into the chair opposite his own. He splays his wide hands across the tabletop and his voice is lowered to a conspiratorial level.

“I… I try my best to.”

The cook shakes his head, shifting forward to plant an elbow on the table. “Nah, you do. Been working here since before he started. It took him forever to start warming up to people. Real pessimistic, closed-off sort, y’know?”

Illinois glances across the room, where Yancy is gesturing wildly as he talks, telling some story that has Gloria and several other nearby servers laughing. “He’s been through a lot. I feel privileged that he’s actually letting me in. Slowly, but more and more all the time.”

“Yeah, well, he ain’t dated much since he started up here. Never really talked much about anyone, never brought people here. But you? You we can’t hear enough about. ‘Noisy’ this, and ‘Illinois’ that! Every damn night with that guy.”

“Well... I’m the same way about him. I’m sure the people at my job are equally tired of hearing about him from me.” Illinois is still staring over at Yancy, but when Bennett suddenly chuckles, he glances back over. “What?”

“Oh, nothin’. You two just out here being the most puppy love sons of bitches I’ve ever seen.”

Illinois puffs up defensively, even as his cheeks warm. “P-puppy love—?”

Bennett’s eyes are shining with mirth. “Ain’t said it yet, huh. Don’t worry. Tis the season for sharing feelings.”

Illinois hunches his shoulders a little against the distinct twinge of embarrassment. “I guess.”

The manager of the diner comes out, cutting their conversation short, with the last of the food being provided by the business itself and gives a brief speech about appreciating the employees before asking if anyone would like to say grace.

Bennett volunteers and hauls himself up from Illinois’ table with a wink. “Heavenly Father,” he recites, “bless this food. And not a damn thing else, amen.” He ducks a couple of balled up napkins and the manager invites them all to fix plates and dig in.

Yancy brings over two flimsy paper plates bowing under the weight of the food they carried. Illinois can’t help but laugh a little. “Is spaghetti a particularly Christmas dish?”

Yancy sets the plates down and points a finger at him. “Youse better not let Gloria hear you sayin’ that. She makes a damn good meatball an’ it’s Christmas worthy on its own merits, y’hear?” He heads back to the table to get their drinks, and the rumble of chatter in the room is a comforting roar that keeps Illinois a thousand miles away from yesterday.

Yancy is gloating as he brings back a second helping of spaghetti for Illinois, piled high with meatballs, and when the crowd finally abandons the scraps of the buffet, the manager emerges again to announce the winners of a small raffle that he had decided to hold.

A lovely waitress in towering heels saunters up to retrieve her third place prize, and one of the backup cooks nearly trips over himself to get up there for the second place one.

Yancy is barely paying attention, chasing around sprinkles on his plate with his thumb, popping them in his mouth, when suddenly it’s his name being boomed from the front, and he freezes like a deer in headlights before he realizes what’s going on and clumsily gets to his feet. He heads to the front uncertainly, almost as though he expects it to be some kind of prank. But an envelope is pressed into his hand, and inside he finds several gift cards, two to some nearby restaurants, one general one, and a final one to the local movie theater chain.

The whole room is cheering as Yancy totters back to his seat looking like he just got poleaxed. Illinois is smiling wide, clapping the loudest of all.

When he gets back to the table, Yancy looks almost sheepish. “Uh… guess we’s all set up for a date night, huh?”

Illinois leans across and plants a soft, lingering kiss on Yancy’s mouth. “Looks like we are.”


	11. “Will it be too cliche to just say I love you?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 11 of the 25 Days of Yancinois Christmas!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexual situations/suggestions but nothing explicit.

“Told you.”

“Ehhhh, shuddup.”

Illinois chuckles and curls his arm around Yancy, bringing him in closer once more. “Keep talking like that and I’ll have to prove it to you again.” Their bodies are still damp with sweat, their hearts still racing a little bit, but he doesn’t mind the small discomfort of knowing they’ll grow tacky and cold together. He just wants Yancy near.

The smaller man doesn’t resist, at least, curling into him and settling down against his chest, letting out a soft sigh as he grows more comfortable. “Youse keep talkin’ an’ I’ll give ya some new bruises,” he mutters.

“Promise?”

Yancy nudges him a little more firmly with his elbow, and Illinois relents. He smiles and traces idle patterns over Yancy’s shoulder blades, hyper-aware of their legs tangled together, his own heartbeat under Yancy’s ear. The quiet spans several long moments, just them and their quiet breathing.

Illinois is gearing himself up to open his mouth when Yancy breaks the silence between them. “‘Ey, we should probably clean up. ‘For we get too tired, y’know.”

Right. Because only one of them was up in their head after the party yesterday. Only one of them had actually been handed an unasked for emotional electric shock to the system. So only one of them was obsessively thinking about it in every lull of conversation between them.

“I’ll go start the shower.” Illinois kisses the top of Yancy’s head and peels himself away, sliding out from under the warm bedsheets to head into the bathroom. It’s chilly, given his state of undress, and he’s quick to crank on the hot water so the steam can start warming the whole room.

“I was just thinkin’ like a washcloth or somethin’,” Yancy’s voice echoes slightly off the tiles.

“Oh? Should I cut the water and just come give you a wipe down then?”

Yancy grumbles and Illinois is smiling a little wider as he sticks a hand under the spray and finds it an acceptable temperature to step under. Yancy is quick to join him, shuddering as he escapes the cooler air outside the curtain. Their bodies bump in the narrow space. Arms brush chests, hip nudges against hip.

Illinois soaps up a scrubber before Yancy can and rubs it over the other’s back, enjoying the way his muscles flex and Yancy groans, bracing a forearm against the warming tile to lean and give him better access. Illinois starts up high, rubbing firmly and squeezing as he does his shoulders, then sweeps it down lower, along his spine, all the way to the waist. Suds roll further still down tan skin.

He’s tempted to chase them with his mouth, as the water rinses them away.

“Yer thinkin’ real hard about somethin’ back there.” Yancy’s voice floats up dryly, head turned to peek back at him from over his shoulder.

“Am I?” Illinois asks, but inwardly he feels his heart skip a beat. He runs the scrubbing cloth around Yancy’s hips, and then down his thighs. He presses closer as he does so, trailing it back up over his chest to wash the front of him as well. 

Yancy leans back into him and hums. “Yeah, youse are. And it ain’t my ass, so youse might as well spill.”

“Actually, I _was_ thinking about your ass just then—“

“Nois.”

Illinois hesitates, and then sighs. “All right.” Yancy slips the scrubber out of his hand, and carefully turns within the cage of his arms. He lathers it up with a fresh palmful of soap and starts swiping it over his boyfriend’s shoulders and chest.

Illinois stares down at the top of his head for a moment, quietly, and finds himself getting lost in the way the hair there clung to Yancy’s scalp. The way it would spring back up, soft and silky, once it was dry. And then would become textured and firm once it was styled. Transforming. Complex. Like the man himself.

“Youse _really_ out of it tonight, huh.” Illinois starts, realizing that he had slipped too deeply into his thoughts again, and catches the worried look Yancy is shooting him.

“I’m sorry, I just…” His shoulders slump, and he lifts a hand to rub over his face. “

“Nois, if I did somethin’ wrong, ya gotta tell me—“

“No!” They both jump from how unexpectedly loud his voice is, and Illinois forces himself to lower it. “No, sweetheart, that’s not… you didn’t do anything wrong, not at all. Not a thing. Okay? It’s just…”

“If youse say ‘it’s not you, its me’, I might hafta deck ya, Noisy.” Illinois huffs out a weak laugh, and Yancy curls his arms around his waist, washing forgotten in favor of comfort. “C’mon, babe, if you’ve gotta say somethin’, then say it. I ain’t fragile.”

Illinois’ smile widens just a touch. “No, you’re certainly not, Yancy. I… I suppose I’m afraid I might be.” Before Yancy can question that too deeply, Illinois presses on. “I’ve… never been very good at relationships. Work has always been fulfilling enough for me. Until you.”

Their damp foreheads press together. Yancy doesn’t push him to continue, just lets him take his time. Get it all out. Illinois feels a knot in his throat all at once. “You… have been unlike anyone else I’ve ever known. And you’ve helped me to be someone I didn’t think I’d ever be.”

“You know youse been a great influence on me, Noisy. Makes me real happy, bein’ with you.”

Illinois shakes his head just a little, not wanting to pull too far back, not wanting to break that connection between them. Otherwise he feared he’d have a hard time resuming the eye contact.

“It’s not so much about influence, it’s… ah. I’m saying this all wrong.” He casts about mentally, trying to start again. But everything he reaches for feels trite, false. His heart burns with the truth, plain and simple and real. But that, too, feels so…

Finally, Illinois exhales, and just… smiles. “Will it be too cliche to just say... ‘I love you’?”

Yancy blinks, lips parting a little like he might say something immediately. But the words don’t quite come right away. They linger just out of reach, as his expression shifts, multiple emotions flickering across his face. Surprise, doubt, and maybe—

“Youse sure you wanna be sayin’ somethin’ like that?” The words tremble a little. “Ain’t somethin’ you should throw around lightly, y’know?”

Illinois’ hands slide up Yancy’s sides, over his chest, around his shoulders. Their bodies press closer together. “I’ve never said those words to anyone in a romantic sense. I’ve warned others off from saying them, because I couldn’t return them.” He squeezes Yancy, just a little. “And I don’t expect you to say them back. Not until you’re ready.”

“Youse just all set up for sainthood, huh.” Yancy’s fingers press into his skin, clinging, and Illinois doesn’t resist, letting him cling. His face presses into his shoulder, and they stay like that for long enough that Illinois starts to wonder if the hot water will run out on them.

Yancy mumbles something, and Illinois has to lean his head down closer to be able to understand him.

“...‘Course I love youse too. Best thing that ever happened t’me.”

Illinois feels the knots that had blossomed in his belly and crawled up his throat suddenly loosen, unroot, slipping away back where they had come from. There was a lightness in its place that made him feel like his feet could leave the ground at any moment.

“Why don’t I get us back to bed,” he murmurs, reaching up to cup Yancy’s cheek, leaning in until their mouths nearly brushed, “So I can take another shot at showing you?”


	12. “Nice sweater.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 12 of the 25 Days of Yancinois Christmas!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I know I’m falling behind shdjdjdjdnd I’m trying my best. This will get finished just don’t know how timely the rest of the chapters will be lol

“Hey, Yance! Nice sweater!”

Yancy starts at the familiar, but unexpected, voice. He glances around, and puffs up a little when he spots Bennett. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. “Ain’t no call for a guy like youse sneakin’ up on anybody.”

Bennett grins, his expression entirely unapologetic. “And who said I was sneakin’? Maybe you just need to clean your ears out, kitchen boy.” Yancy grumbles and takes a good-natured swipe at him, which only makes Bennet grin wider still as more of his gaudy sweater is revealed under his heavy jacket.

It’s already an eye-catching shade of red, but the flashing lights imbedded in the material really make sure that it draws anyone to look at it. Loops of stitched Christmas lights tangle themselves together across his torso and down his arms. _‘Tis The Season_ is scrawled amidst the chaos in a looping white font.

“Illinois digs the sweater look, huh.”

Yancy doesn’t dignify that with a response, choosing instead to cram his hands back into his pockets and glance back at the storefront he’d been peering into. Bennet does the same, and asks, “Buyin’ some Christmas presents for Angie?”

The inside of the mall’s Petsmart looks back at them, shelves lined with rows and rows of pet supplies. And posters advertising some of the pets that were being housed there, awaiting adoption. They hung alongside more adverts for the other charities and companies they worked with, the off-site locations where more adoptions and services could be found.

“Nah, Noisy’s already got a pile’a things for Ange.”

“Then what’re you hoverin’ around the window for like a kid with no allowance at the candy store?”

Yancy sighs. He shifts, and his shoulder falls against the wall just to the side of the window. “‘Cause I suck at Christmas presents, an’ I’m about to ruin another one of Illinois’ gifts, an’ I don’t know what to do about it.”

Bennett huffs out a breath and gestures. Yancy follows him to a nearby bench, still in sight of the Petsmart, and they both drop onto the wooden seat, making it creak and groan from their combined weight. But it holds them, and Bennett jabs a finger at Yancy. “All right, spill.”

Yancy curls his hands together, leaning forward until his forearms are braced on his knees. “I… ain’t doing so good with Christmas gifts this year.”

“I find that damn hard to believe,” says Bennett, but Yancy shakes his head.

“Nah, the gifts’re good, I ain’t stupid. But… I had ta give him his wallet early ‘cause he was gonna order himself a new one, an’ now his other _big_ gift is ‘bout to fall through.” Yancy sighs. “Nois loves Angie, he’s great to her. But he’s a cat guy, y’know? I don’t know nothin’ about cats.”

Bennett nods sagely. “You’re makin’ the ultimate sacrifice for love.”

Yancy’s face heats up but he doesn’t comment on the word choice. “There’s this cat here, an’ it seems perfect for him, y’know? But they can’t hold it for me all the way till Christmas Eve, and Gloria already said she couldn’t hold it ‘cause her dog is a cat-eater. Ange didn’t lose it when we saw that cat in here—” He indicates the looming storefront. “—that one time, so I figure she’s safe, but I ain’t gonna be able to hide the damn thing in the apartment for two weeks.”

Bennett nods, rubbing a hand over his chin. “So you’re gonna be stuck givin’ him another present early.” He catches the look Yancy sends him and huffs. “I’d let it stay with me, Yance, but I’ve got a allergy. Cats make me sneeze like a bitch.”

Yancy scrubs both hands over his face and slumps back against the bench more fully. “I could wait till closer t’Christmas but what if someone else sees him an’ scoops that little bastard right out from under me?

Bennett rubs a hand over his chin. “And you can’t just pick another little furball for him then?”

Yancy pushes himself to his feet, and gestures for Bennett to follow him. He does so, somewhat hesitantly, but despite the live pets wandering in and out, the store is clean enough that it doesn’t trigger his allergy on entry.

They walk around the front of the store and to the right, past the fish tanks, to the glass wall separating shoppers from the adoptable cats. Several cats of varying ages and breeds lie around in cat trees. One fluffy white one stands next to the glass and tips their head, and Bennett can feel his nose tingling at the very idea of being exposed to all of that fur.

Yancy presses his face close to the glass and leans. The lights from his sweater flash brighter on the glass and the white cat reaches up to try and bat at them. “Ehhh, there the little bastard is. Youse know you’re s’sposed to hide so no one else wants ya, huh.”

Bennett leans as well to see, and there’s a small bundle of blue-grey fur curled up in the hollow of one of the trees. It’s thin tail is curled around its feet, blinking vivid green eyes up at them.

“His name’s Romeo.”

Bennett groans. “Damn. That’s his damn cat, ain’t it?”

Yancy frowns at the cat through the glass, and they both watch as the kitten yawns, whips its tail, and settles it’s head back down on its little paws.

“So what am I gonna do?”

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts came from here!
> 
> https://barnesrogersvstheworld.tumblr.com/post/189150819281/1-youre-freezing-come-here-2-thats-the


End file.
